The Trajectory of a Falling Star
by Queerasil
Summary: Sherlock is a bit not good. Sally notices and investigates. (A BAMF Sally series in which she is not evil and actually helpful and basically makes Mystrade and Johnlock happen. Loose adaption of 'The Adventure of the Dying Detective'. TW: Drugs, torture, withdrawal, sick!fic. Serbia and parentlock.)
1. One Little Slip

It starts as a slip of the hand.

They're standing in the at the crime scene, arguing over a dead body.

"I don't see how you can –"

"Of course you don't see, you're not even looking!" Sherlock takes out his phone, flipping angrily through a few pictures before he freezes. His expression goes blank and the tension and anger seems to fall away from him like water. His fingers slip, and the phone falls from his gasp, clattering to the ground and shattering.

Sally bends down to pick up his phone, but Sherlock unfreezes and lunges for it before she can. He brushes it off, completely ignoring the shattered screen as he flips to whatever he wanted to show Sally.

"Everything alright?" she asks, slightly sarcastic.

"Phone works fine," he nods.

"That's not what I meant."

Sherlock looks up at her and rolls his eyes. "In case you missed it, we're hear to investigate dead bodies – not living ones, now –"

Sherlock launches off into some tirade about how the state of the victim's shoes identifies the murderer, but Sally isn't listening. Sally is observing.

Sherlock looks like shit, that much is obvious. But it takes a true detective to notice the little details. The hazy, almost confused look in his eyes. How his fingers trembles slightly when they're not in use. How he reacts to any minor stimuli, like flashing lights or sudden hand movements.

But Sally's been around while, and she's seen Sherlock up and down and all around. She should be used to this by now.

But she's not.

She goes home and tries to put it out of her mind.

It doesn't work.

She didn't feel guilty when he died.

She did not feel guilty when he died.

She thought he was a psychopath – rightly so. She did her duty to Queen and country. She did her job. If she'd known Sherlock was innocent, she wouldn't have done it.

It's not her fault he jumped.

It is not her fault he jumped.

That's what she told herself every night during 'the Great Hiatus'.

_It's not my fault, _she lied.

It didn't help.

...

**Notes:**

**Sally needs more love. I was inspired to write this because I'm tired of her being type-cast as the alpha-bitch in every fic she's in. In my opinion, Sally is like a female, slightly ruder, version of Sherlock. **

**This will be a lose adaption of 'The Adventures of the Dying Detective'. It will end with Johnlock/Parentlock/Mystrade. **

**Alternatively titled (In which Sally fixes everything.)**

**Please enjoy! There will probably be 10 chapters total, so make sure to follow or subscribe or update for more!**


	2. Two Fines

"He's been doing that all night."

Sally turns from the chalkboard to look behind her. "What? It's just the freak being the freak." She really doesn't see anything special about the way Sherlock's acting. He's just doing what he usually does: whatever the hell he wants.

"No, but something's different this time." Anderson scratches his head. His newly cut hair and trimmed beard are itchy, but it's a mild price to pay compared to getting his job back at the Yard. "Something's off."

Sally turns back to the chalkboard, absentmindedly re-arranging the crime scene photos. "Think he's on drugs again?"

Anderson shakes his head, his eyes still transfixed on Sherlock. "This is completely different. He's so… quiet now. He's been like this ever since John left."

Sally scoffs. "John's been gone a year. Ever since Mary… Shouldn't he be over it by now?"

"I don't know," Anderson shrugs. "Maybe he cares?"

"Maybe he doesn't. Maybe, he's just quiet." _Sherlock Holmes' silence is a blessing. _"Not everything's a big conspiracy, Anderson." Sally turns her head to find Anderson isn't there. He's trotting off determinately across the floor of the Yard to the desk Sherlock is situated at. "Phil!"

He doesn't listen. Anderson comes to stand directly beside Sherlock, filled with newfound bravery. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock doesn't look up. He remains very engrossed in a cold case from a few months ago. "Fine." He waves his hand dismissively, signaling Anderson to leave.

"No, you're not," Anderson persists. "You're quiet.

Sherlock looks up lazily from his file and sighs. "Think I'm on drugs again? How long have you known me? I don't do downers, now piss off."

Anderson pouts. "I'm just trying to help."

"Make me some tea. That'd be lovely," Sherlock smiles. "Now."

Anderson stalks off to the kitchen. Sally stands in the doorway of the break room, a good twenty-feet away from the detective. Even from that distance, she can tell something's wrong with him. His eyes are hollow, sunken in, and bright with something almost feverish. His skin is paler than usual, (which is saying a lot), and almost yellow. By far, the most alarming thing is how complete and utterly calm he's being.

She steps forward. _Why the fuck am I doing this? _She thinks, and the other voice in the back of her head says, _Because you need to know. _She takes a deep breath and speaks. "He's right, you know." No response. "Anderson, I mean. He just wants to make sure you're okay."

"Fine."

"Not fine - okay."

"Is there a distinction?"

The simple fact he insists on using 'fine' instead of 'okay' bothers her. "Actually, yeah, there is a difference. 'Fine' is something you say when you want someone to go away. 'Okay' is something you say when you want someone to care."

"Oh, do you care? Who's the freak now."

Sally sighs. "I call you that as a term of endearment, you know."

"No," he says. "I didn't."

She crosses her arms. "Well, you do now."

They stand in silence for a few moments before Sally gets the courage to ask the question she's been wanting to for ages.

"Do you miss him?"

Sherlock pauses, a snide remark on the tip of his tongue. He looks up at her, finally tearing his eyes away from the case file. "Yes."

Sally is frozen. Sherlock stands up, putting his great coat on and tucking the case file under his arm. His eyes don't meet Sally's. As he turns around, she rushes forward to him and grabs him lightly by the arm, stopping him. "If you ever need anyone, you can just call me, you know."

Sherlock smiles, but Sally can tell he isn't totally there. _Of course not, _she thinks. _He's off somewhere with John. Solving cases and laughing like the good old days. _"Of course," he responds, before tearing his arm away and leaving.


	3. Three Missing Toes

Anderson comes out with the tea a few seconds later. He looks utterly disappointed that Sherlock didn't say. "Did he say anything?"

Sally shakes her head. "Nothing important," she lies. She points at the tea, "Can I have that?"

Anderson hands it over gladly.

She takes a sip, and finds it warm and sweet in her mouth. "Tastes good."

"Thanks. I tried to make as good as I could."

She smirks, "You're such a people pleaser."

"Well, Sherlock Holmes isn't really a 'person' is he?"

Sally is willing to concede that. "I don't think we need to be worried about him."

"Really?"

Sally honestly doesn't know.

They get back to worse, arranging and organizing the crime scene photos until they click together like the pieces of a puzzle. All the while, Sally can't get Sherlock out of her head. His sad smile, the haunted way he seemed to look at the case file, how damned polite he was. The whole thing was odd.

Anderson leaves a few minutes before she does. Sally is the last one in the office, left alone among the office furniture and grisly crime photos. Believe it or not, she actually likes working there at night. It gives her a sense of peace, thinking she can do some good.

Before she goes, Sally can't resist a peak at the case file Sherlock was reading. Sally walks forward to picks it up, thumbing through the various photos of a mutilated corpse until she finds a name:

**Isaac Vladimir Borovic **

**Date of Birth: 8/19/1976**

**Date of Death: 3/26/2013**

**Hair: Brown**

**Eyes: Hazel**

Sally flips forward to the autopsy report:

**Cause of Death: Gunshot wound to the back of the skull.**

**Coroner's notes: **

**_Autopsy performed by Doctor Molly Abigail Hooper_**

**High traces of morphine in the blood stream.**

**Multiple cuts, stab wounds, burns, and lacerations across the majority of the body.**

**Four broken ribs, seven minor infections, three missing toes.**

**Victim displays sign of recent abuse. Perhaps even torture. **

**Chaffing on wrists indicates prolonged period of being bound by handcuffs.**

**Signs of dehydration as well as malnutrition. **

Sally glances of the pictures. She's seen gruesome murders before, but this is by far one of the most brutal. She goes looks for the police report, but it's missing, along with the list of suspects and witnesses.

_Right, well then. Nothing weird about that, _Sally tells herself. _Just Sherlock withholding evidence. No biggie. _This is actually something Sherlock's done before, and therefore not much of a surprise. _Probably just wants to solve the case for himself and get all the glory. _

Sally doesn't really believe that, but she tells herself it anyway. She goes home and tries to sleep, but she can't get the haunting images of Sherlock's face and Isaac's broken body out of her mind.

Sally switches her brain into 'Sherlock-mode' to deduce what the hell is going on.

_Sherlock was more upset than usual. Sherlock never gets upset unless something is personal. Ergo, Sherlock must be personally impacted by the murder. Following that line of thought, the murder must somehow relate back to Sherlock. _

She's really can't sleep after that.


	4. Four Warnings

Sally calls Dr. Hooper the next morning.

"Hello?"

_"__Hey, Dr. Hooper, it's Sergeant Donovan. Look, I was wondering if –"_

"What, trying to find something to be mean to Sherlock about?"

_"__Sorry, did –"_

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. You know, you're always so mean to him. You can't treat him like that and then expect me to help you."

_"__Molly, I –"_

"Please don't call me again."

Dr. Hooper hangs up.

That is a lot different than the mild-mannered pathologist Sally is used to. Sally know she rightfully deserves the flack she gets. She has, after all, spent the last several years being incredibly mean to Sherlock. Perhaps it was guilt pushing her to investigate Isaac's murder further?

Sally needs to investigate.

She calls in sick to the Yard, faking a stomach ache.

She goes down to Bart's Morgue and tries to speak to Molly personally, but she gets the proverbial 'coffin' slammed in her face.

She then goes to John's clinic to try and talk him 'round, but he was busy tending to the needs of actual sick people, so she left him a voicemail: "This is Sally. Something's fucking wrong with Sherlock. I need your help. Calm me when you feel like being a good friend."

She is just about to give up on her search for information when a sleek black car pulls up beside her.

The door opens and a mysterious voice ushers her inside.

Sally was totally not expecting to get kidnapped today.

"What the hell am I doing in here?" Sally demands, sitting across from a very lovely, very bored looking woman typing away on her phone.

"Mr. Holmes will explain everything soon," the woman says flatly.

Sally damn near rolls her eyes. "Sherlock is kidnapping me?"

"No," the woman looks up at her and smirks. "The other Mr. Holmes."

Sally sighs. _Oh god, there's two of them._

The other Mr. Holmes is just as horrible as the first.

He has this pointed nose and this pompous suit and this snooty air about him. He reminds Sally of someone you'd run into at a party who just talks about classical literature and chess the whole time. Worst of all, he's actually powerful. At the beginning of their 'meeting' (_formal kidnapping_), he makes several vague and ambiguous threats. Sally promises not to say anything, but she probably will.

"You've recently been making inquiries into the affairs of my brother, is that correct?"

"Well, someone has to look out for him," Sally replies. The amount of sass in the room is nearly suffocating. "You're certainly not."

Mr. Holmes smirks. "Quite the contrary. I've been looking out for my brother far longer than you have, Sergeant Donovan. Believe me, I know exactly what to do."

"No, actually, you don't. If you did, you would have noticed something was wrong with him ages ago." Sally crosses her arms, sitting back in her chair stubbornly.

Mr. Holmes drops the polite formalities in an instant. "If you don't stop investigating, I'll have your security clearance pulled and you'll be demoted to directing street traffic, is that clear?"

Sally nods. Nothing he can say will stop her from going home later and searching the name "Isaac Borovic".


	5. Chapter 5

**Trigger Warning for semi-graphicish descriptions of torture. Not really that bad, but warranting a warning nonetheless. **

...

Sally does home later and fulfills her promise of searching the victim's name. She doesn't find anything directly labeled Isaac Borovic, but she does find a rather disturbing video uploaded by someone named 'ISackedBoroVic'.

The video is nearly too horrendous to describe. It appears to be some kind of snuff film, or at least a frighteningly accurate horror movie. Every blow landed on the victim seems to be real. Every moan and tortured groan seems genuine. The victim's face is hidden from view, either by a bag or a mop of messy hair. Sally hopes its fake, because she doesn't know how anyone could endure that kind of torture.

She can't even watch all of it. She loses her dinner halfway through and spends the rest of her night trying to wash the images from her mind.

She compiles all her evidence together and arrives at a grisly conclusion.

Possibility 1:

_The victim in the video is Isaac Borovic. The wounds fit, the time frame fits - it makes sense. _

Possibility 2:

_The victim in the video is someone being tortured by Isaac Borovic. Isaac Borovic was later killed the same way as an act of revenge._

**Possibility 3 (most likely):**

**_Sherlock is the victim in the video being tortured by Isaac Borovic. Sherlock later killed Isaac the same way he tortured him in revenge. _**

**_Evidence Supporting:_**

**_How hard everyone's trying to stop her from investigating._**

**_How personally impacted Sherlock is._**

**_Sherlock stole the evidence from the folder._**

**_Evidence against:_**

**_None._**

Sally is conflicted.

On one hand, Sherlock is likely a murderer. On the other hand, Sherlock was a torture victim who did the world a favor by disposing of a very horrible man.

Sally shudders as she remembers her words, _"On day, we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there." _

She tells no one.


	6. Chapter 6

Sally avoids Sherlock for the next three-weeks.

When she finally sees him, it's only because he's blocking her path in the hallway.

"Going somewhere," he questions, leaning against the door frame. Sally can't meet his eyes, not without hearing his screams of pain.

She tries to act as normal as possible. Unfortunately, this means she still has to pretend she hates him. "Yes. To work. Now get out of the way, freak," she spits.

Sherlock smirks. "I wonder if you'll ever think of anything original to call me…" Sally doesn't look away from the floor. "What's wrong? Can't look the freak in the eye?"

She can't. She just can't. Not without seeing the blood and Isaac's blown out head and –

She takes a deep breath and looks up at him, meeting his rather sharp eyes. She hears the screams, sees the blood, feels the chains around her wrists. She doesn't look away.

Sherlock looks mildly impressed. Silently, he steps aside and lets her walk through the door.

The next time they see each other, they're at a crime scene. Sherlock is licking a butter knife that may or may not be a murder weapon and she's pretending not to look disgusted.

Anderson steps over to her, noting her unease. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," she mumbles. "Why is he licking the butter knife?"

Anderson shrugs. "Who knows. He's Sherlock Holmes."

Sally nods, because that's explanation enough.

Sherlock stands up, wincing a bit as he does. Sally's mind unconsciously flashes back to the images of Borovic's broken back, which she knows must be identical to Sherlock's. She wondered if his injuries ever in pain – apparently, they did.

Anderson notices the wince, and Sally doesn't have enough time to stop him before he speaks. "Need some help?" He asks, an honest tone to his voice.

"No," Sherlock says, but looks like he needs it. His eyes are slightly unfocused, and he stumbles back just a fraction as he walks forward. Sally wonders if she's just imagining things, or perhaps if she's just seeing what she imagines she'll see.

After Sherlock walks away, she leans over to Anderson. "Did you see that?"

He nods and she scowls. Lestrade walks over join the group, watching Sherlock walk away with them.

Anderson picks this genius moment to comment, "Doesn't look good, does he?"

Lestrade frowns. "You know it's been hard on him ever since…" Lestrade makes a vague hand gesture which is probably sign language for _John left._

Lestrade sends Anderson away to take samples, leaving Sally alone with her boss.

Suddenly, Lestrade turns to her. "Stop investigating, Sally."

Sally is shocked. She's about to start protesting when her boss stops her. "I'm worried about him too, but you cannot get any deeper in this, Sally. You just can't. This is Sherlock's problem. Now, you're a good cop, but you need to know when to keep your head out of other people's business."

"It's my job to get in other people's business," Sally yells, but it's too late; her boss is already walking away.


	7. Chapter 7

Sally calls John's office and his mobile. No response on either. She wonders if he has her number blocked. Given the way she used to treat Sherlock, she wouldn't blame him.

Sherlock gets progressively worse. He stumbles more at crime scenes or doesn't even come at all, and makes more mistakes than usual. Worst of all, he is incredibly quiet. Sally thought she'd relish the day when Sherlock shut up; now, she hates it. She hates the haunting silence. She wants it to end.

Sally tries to talk to Lestrade. She begs him to check up on Sherlock, pleads with him. Lestrade refuses, saying it's none of his business, and that it's none of Sally's either.

Sherlock stops coming to crime scenes.

Sally wishes she could take back everything she said. Every slur, every hateful word, every rude comment, every mocking gesture. She wishes she could take it all back. It damn near kills her that she can't.

She calls John again, leaving more messages and voicemails. She calls Molly, and Mrs. Hudson, and even DI Dimmock. She gets nothing in response.

Cases stop getting solved. Their solve rate drops from 86% with Sherlock to 42% without. Sally has never felt like such a failure while working.

Anderson makes her tea every day. They solve what cases they can together, bonding over their mutual worry. She has no idea why she used to sleep with him, but he doesn't hold it against her that she doesn't anymore.

_There is comfort in obsession, _she decides one day.

**...**

**Note:**

**Short chapter, but double-update today. Next chapter will be up soon!**


	8. Chapter 8

One day, Sally just gets fed up and decides to take a trip over to Baker Street. She takes some cold cases with her, hoping to use them to hide her true intentions.

Sally knocks on the door and Mrs. Hudson leads her upstairs. She doesn't know whether to knock on Sherlock's front door or just let herself in.

She decides to fuck it all and opens the door.

Sherlock is not in the living room.

Sally lets out a breath of relief, happy she doesn't have to explain what she's doing in Sherlock's flat. The living room is remarkably tidy, especially by Sherlock's standards. There appears to be –

Sally's thoughts come to an abrupt halt as the sound of retching echoes throughout the flat.

Sally cringes. She wonders if she should leave now and spare herself the inevitable disaster that's probably about to happen. She decides that since she's come this far, she can't go back now. Cautiously, she starts walking to the back bathroom.

The door is closed and there's a foul smell in the air. Sally recognizes it as once as bile, and she plugs her nose to avoid breathing it in. "Sherlock," she calls. No response. She wasn't really expecting any. "You there?" She knocks on the door. A faint groan inside tells her that Sherlock is probably in there. "I'm coming in," she decides, just as she opens the door.

Sherlock is sitting next to the toilet, his head in his hands. He doesn't acknowledge Sally.

Unsure of what she can do to help, Sally kneels down to his level. "You okay?"

There a pause before Sherlock starts laughing. Not regular laughing, though. Crazy, delirious laughing. The kind of laughing someone does when they have a fever of 103 degrees or are tripping on acid. "Fine," he smirks, shaking his head.

He is definitely not fine. "Do you want me to get you some water?"

"Fine, fine, fine, fine. I am absolutely amazing. Fantastic, as John would say." Sherlock draws a sharp breath in before he starts to cough. Violently.

Sherlock draws his fingers away from his mouth. Sally sees they're lightly covered in blood. "I think we should take you to the hospital…" She reaches out towards him, but he snaps his hand away.

"No!" he yells. "No! I need John!"

_John, _Sally's mind clicks. _This has all been about John. This is some weird attention ploy to get John back. That is so Sherlock. _That doesn't explain the video, or Isaac, or anything else, but it's the best explanation she can find at the moment. "Okay, I'll get John for you."

"No, no, no, no, no." Sherlock shakes his head furiously, almost hitting it against the wall. "John doesn't want to see me; John hates me. John - " Sherlock suddenly stops. His eyes go blank and his stare is vacant as he stares ahead.

_Oh my god, is he having a absence seizure? _"Sherlock? Sherlock, look at me."

Sherlock does. The expression on his face is heart-breaking. "John hates me," he whispers. He wraps his arms around himself, setting his head down onto his knees and shaking. Sally looks down at his bare feet: three missing toes.

She cringes. "He doesn't hate you." That's probably not true, but Sally says it anyway. "John's your best friend." She smiles. She feels like she's talking to a child. "I'll go get John, okay?"

He laughs a bit before saying, "Fine," in a mocking voice. Sally wishes she'd never made the distinction in the first place.


	9. Chapter 9

Sally finds Sherlock's phone buried under a pile of used tea bags and bloody rags. She keeps it as far away from her face as possible when she calls John.

The phone rings out. She calls again. John answers this time.

"What the bloody hell do you want?"

_"__John, this is Sally, you need to listen to me. Sherlock needs your help. I don't care if you hate him or not – he needs you, and you're his only friend, you better get your ass over here before he dies."_

John starts to laugh.

_"__I'm serious! He's really sick! He needs you!"_

John stops laughing abruptly. His voice is suddenly serious. "Oh my god, you're actually serious. How's he sick?"

Sally gives John a brief and disgusting list of Sherlock's symptoms.

"Oh my god, are you joking? Sally, come on, he's going through withdrawals."

_"__That's probably true. Even if it is, he needs you, John."_

"He needs to dry out. He needs to get clean. Let him go through it. He'll be better in a few days. Take my advice; get out of there while you still can."

John hands up. Sally is so angry that she throws Sherlock's phone against the wall.

"Bloody hell…" Sally stomps back to the bathroom, picks Sherlock up by the waist and carries him to his bed where she throws him down carelessly. "Sleep," she commands, drawing the blankets are his thin frame.

Sherlock curls up on himself, mumbling something about oysters and pence and pearls.

"At least tell me what you're detoxing from."

Sherlock groans, "Morphine."

_Great._

Sally stays with him for five-days while Sherlock sweats out his addiction. When Sherlock is finally coherent, Sally gives him a water bottle and some crackers. She demands an explanation.

"Been trying to quit for ages," Sherlock mumbles. His voice is so weak that he can barely speak. "You saw the video… You know… the pain I must be in."

Sally nods. Sherlock's agony must be unimaginable. "I understand." She swallows thickly.

Sherlock looks over at her. He looks worse than she's ever seen him before, but somehow better. "You won't tell anyone about Borovic, will you?"

Sally shook her head.

"Good. He bloody deserved it too. If you want…" Sherlock starts coughing, and Sally waits for him to finish. "The rest of the file is hidden in the closet."

Later, when Sherlock finally dozes off into a semi-peaceful sleep, Sally reads the file. One part grips her attention in particular:

**Possible suspects:**

**Wilhelm J. Cranmer**

**Colonel Sebastian A. Moran**

**Doctor John H. Watson**

Sally understands.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock solves cases from his flat the week after that. Sally brings him case files and he sits on the couch with a blanket. Sometimes, she brings him takeout and they talk. (Well, Sally talks. She goes on and on about her day and he listens politely because he owes her.)

Sally doesn't apologize for how she treated him before. Frankly, he doesn't want an apology. To Sherlock Holmes, apologizes mean pity, and Sherlock does not want to be pitied.

The elder Holmes kidnaps her again, but with a better purpose this time. He needs ideas on what to do for his one-year anniversary with Lestrade.

Sally understands.

Sally still has to fix the whole situation with John Watson.

Sally drops by the clinic one morning, faking a cough. John is her GP. The second he walks into the consultation room, he knows he's really, properly fucked.

"Sally," John's calm exterior hides the anger Sally is sure is surging underneath. "Everything okay."

She smirks. "Fine."

She explains the whole situation with Sherlock. She chooses to leave out the bits about Isaac and the suspect list. If Sherlock ever wants to tell John that, he can. It's not Sally's place.

It is Sally's place, however, to correct John on a few minor points.

"It's not Sherlock's fault. About what happened to Mary, I mean."

John suddenly looks very uncomfortable. He's about to speak when Sally stops him.

"No. You listen. Sherlock couldn't do anything to stop it. He tried and tried and tried, but he couldn't do anything. It's not his fault, John. It's no one's fault."

John is silent, but his eyes well up with tears. He chokes back a sob. "I know."

"He needs you, and frankly… You need him to." Sally walks out the door, leaving John to sit in the chair and think.

John goes back to Baker Street, taking his two-year old daughter Liz with him.

Liz's first words are 'corpse'. Sally's not sure if that's a good thing or not.

Sherlock goes back to solving cases. The solve rate skyrockets to 94%. John blogs about it. Sherlock forgets his pants. Little Liz tries not to eat the evidence.

Sally is pretty damn proud of herself.


	11. Author's Notes

Author's Notes:

**NOW A ONE-SHOT SEQUEL: s/10725435/1/With-Bated-Breath-I-Waited**

In defense of John: What happened to Mary was really, really bad, and largely Sherlock's fault. John's anger is justified for the most part, but also he's being a bit thick skinned and stubborn. (But hey, that's John.)

In defense of Sherlock: How would you feel if the freaking light of your life left? Yeah. Talk about burning your heart out.

In defense of Sally: I am so sick of Sally D being typecast as 'the Bitch' in fanfics. Seriously? She's awesome. There's a double standard in place in the fandom where women are concerned. Sally acts pretty much like Sherlock; she gets in people's faces, she's rude, she's cold and clever. It's always been my headcanon that Sherlock secretly admires her. Shally BROTP for the win.

In defense of Anderson: He made Sherlock tea, and he tried to make it nice! Oh, Anderson baby! That's so sweet of you! Actual fact about Anderson is that he secretly admires Sherlock and wants to impress him. For the record, Anderson is actually quite clever.

Who the hell is Liz Watson? Liz Watson is Mary and John's daughter who was born (obviously) before something happened to Mary. She's about a year or so old at the time this story takes place. For the record: She's absolutely adorable.

I will probably eventually go back through and edit this. I'm sure there are tons of errors, and I'd be happy to change any you guys can find.

Mystrade is beautiful. I don't care if they've appeared on screen for a total of two-seconds together; I will ship it to the moon.

I could go off on several hundred thousand tangents about how Sherlock and John's relationship has an element of abusiveness to it. Let's face it: They're both addicted to danger and pain, constantly make bad choices, and are always being kind of jerks to one another. There's a lot of co-dependency there as well. I'm writing two fics right now (not sequels to this) that explored that. If you want to check them out, they're called 'A Time to Think' and 'all these bridges we're burning are only making the world brighter'. (They should be uploaded soon. Check out my profile to find them.

Should I write a sequel to this? I don't know. Tell me what you think.

As to that whole thing with the file and the list of suspects... Well... I'll leave you to your deductions. *winks*

Hope you enjoyed! Please rec, leave thanks, comment to tell me what you think! I'd love to know. I hope I've brought some semblance of joy to your dark and dreary lives. :)

Peace out,

Natasha Konczak, (AKA) Queerasil


End file.
